a barside serenade.
three quarters classical guitar.
the nylon is so easy and smooth.
real nice sound in the old downtown mexican restaurant.
tall, old, bricks, booths, ladies rolling silverware.
a place to watch boxing matches in the eighties.
TVs on wood shelves in the corners.
cutting our own limes and a Friday night crowd.
it was early evening, late afternoon timeframe.
we all had places to be.
but a break for beers at el Juarez was welcomed.
updates on tragic famlies and concert invites.
the aging men a bit older.
the women all the same.
so it is with time.
searching for motivation to carry forward.
this is not all there is.
the crazy man understood spacefolk.
danced, Woodstock style, as the Mexicans watched.
told him specifically of the genre.
the true songs capturing stories of the past.
lifting up the eternal mindset.
the musical evolution of the lead guitarist.
from 2 minute loud punk songs to spacey effects and pedals.
and some space for silence, which is a noise itself.
how the drums are sporadic and complimentary.
also the structure, with defined space for chaotic sounds.
vocals delivered shouting style, sing it dude.
stories told by old people.
memories sharp and full of color.
dual meanings and hooks make it.
the literal and figurative perfectly expressed.
queso and two toned and the hog song.
then, gilberto hernandez hit the stage.
Freddy Fender was there before the next teardrop fell.
paid the tab with real cash, left all my change.